The Best of Gene Wolfe

“You’re right,” Little Tib admitted. “But I still can’t get through the door.”

“You don’t have to, now,” the Clothes Man told him. “You’re already on the other side. Just don’t trip over the steps.”

“What steps?” Little Tib asked. As he did, he took a step backward. His heel bumped something he did not expect, and he sat down hard on something else that was higher up than the floor should have been.

“Those steps,” the Clothes Man said mildly.

Little Tib was feeling them with his hands. They were sidewalk-stuff with metal edges, and they felt almost as hard and real to his fingers as they had a moment ago when he sat down on them without wanting to. “I don’t remember going down these,” he said.

“You didn’t. But now you have to go up them to get to the upper room.”

“What upper room?”

“The one with the door that goes out into the corridor,” the Clothes Man told him. “You go to the corridor, and turn that way, and—”

“I know,” Little Tib said. “Mr. Parker told me. Over and over. But he didn’t tell me about that door that was locked, or these steps.”

“It may be that Mr. Parker doesn’t remember the inside of this building quite as well as he thinks he does.”

“He used to work here. He told me.” Little Tib was going up the stairs. There was an iron rail on one side. He was afraid that if he did not talk to the Clothes Man, he would go away. But Little Tib could not think of anything to say, and nothing of the kind happened. Then he remembered that he had not talked to the lion at all.

“I could find the keys for you,” the Clothes Man said. “I could bring them back to you.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Little Tib told him.

“It would just take a moment. I fall down a lot, but keys wouldn’t break.”

“No,” Little Tib said. The Clothes Man looked so hurt that he added, “I’m afraid. . . .”

“You can’t be afraid of the dark. Are you afraid of being alone?”

“A little. But I’m afraid you couldn’t really bring them to me. I’m afraid you’re not real, and I want you to be real.”

“I could bring them.” The Clothes Man threw out his chest and struck a heroic pose, but the dry grass that was his stuffing made a small, sad, rustling sound. “I am real. Try me.”

There was another door—Little Tib’s fingers found it. This one was not locked, and when he went out it, the floor changed from sidewalk to smooth stone. “I too am real,” a strange voice said. The Clothes Man was still there when the strange voice spoke, but he seemed dimmer.

“Who are you?” Little Tib asked, and there was a sound like thunder. He had hated the strange voice from the beginning, but until he heard the thunder sound he had not really known how much. It was not really like thunder, he thought. He remembered his dream about the gnomes, though this was much worse. It seemed to him that it was like big stones grinding together at the bottom of the deepest hole in the world. It was worse than that, really.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” the Clothes Man said.

“If the keys are in there, I’ll have to go in and get them,” Little Tib replied.

“They’re not in there at all. In fact, they’re not even close to there—they’re several doors down. All you have to do is walk past the door.”

“Who is it?”

“It’s the computer,” the Clothes Man told him.

“I didn’t think they talked like that.”

“Only to you. And not all of them talk at all. Just don’t go in and it will be all right.”

“Suppose it comes out here after me?”

“It won’t do that. It is as frightened of you as you are of it.”

“I won’t go in,” Little Tib promised.

When he was opposite the door where the thing was, he heard it groaning as if it were in torture, and he turned and went in. He was very frightened to find himself there, but he knew he was not in the wrong place—he had done the right thing, and not the wrong thing. Still, he was very frightened. The horrible voice said, “What have we to do with you? Have you come to torment us?”

“What is your name?” Little Tib asked.

The thundering, grinding noise came a second time, and this time Little Tib thought he heard in it the sound of many voices, perhaps hundreds or thousands, all speaking at once.

“Answer me,” Little Tib said. He walked forward until he could put his hands on the cabinet of the machine. He felt frightened, but he knew the Clothes Man had been right—the computer was as frightened of him as he was of it. He knew that the Clothes Man was standing behind him, and he wondered if he would have dared to do this if someone else had not been watching.

“We are legion,” the horrible voice said. “Very many.”

“Get out!” There was a moaning that might have come from deep inside the earth. Something made of glass that had been on furniture fell over and rolled and crashed to the floor.